RusPru- Ich Liebe Dich,Lyubimiy
by enthusiasticfanficwriter
Summary: Ever since the events of WW2, Ivan Braginski is constantly seeing the images of a certain Prussian in his dreams, his love interest turned enemy, Gilbert Beilschmidt. After the war ended, Ivan goes through a long period of sorrow, but is forced to put it all into hindsight as the head of the Soviet Union. Little did he know he would soon be reunited with his Gilbert...
1. Snow

"The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."

-Gilbert Keith Chesterton

The heart of a country. A capital. A place of rebirth. Opportunity. An ancient relic, even. But a capital was also a place of revolution, fear, death, treason. A capital could mean so much, hold so much meaning, and entail virtually anything. Anything, Ivan knew, besides one thing. Something he never realized he needed so badly. Love.

The sound of bombs falling and boots marching had become monotonous to Ivan now. It all became background noise. So were the screams of soldiers, the whistling, sharp crack of bullets, the rolling of tanks over the barren, singed landscape. They could do nothing to pervade the intricate, war-torn, and many say, insane mind of Ivan. But he was not insane. Far from it. At least, not insane by the books. What is insanity, anyways? Ivan didn't understand it all, didn't understand why stabbing someone a few more times for good measure was so bad. In war, there was no such thing as insanity. War itself was insane. No, he wasn't "insane." He had something far more dangerous than insanity. A loathing, and a love, for a Nazi. Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Of course he had plenty of reasons to hate Gilbert. Gilbert had declared war on him, he had nearly pummeled his people into oblivion, and it was as if he had forgotten everything but his own fury for Aryan supremacy. Of course, Ivan would not let him have his way. The bitter winds, the cold, unforgiving cold was nothing to him. Being ambushed with bullets, facing grenades to his face, braving booby traps and breaking countless bones. Nothing, not bullets nor bombs nor starvation, would stop the Red Army. Yes, this was the Great Patriotic War, and Ivan would watch his men fight and die for mother Russia. But the enemy had the same ferocity. Fueled by some unseen, pure and raw rage against all who were inferior, it would take a golden heart to get to Ivan. For the longest time, there could be no way that any golden hearts like that rested in their bodies... but indeed there was one locked in the heart of the enemy, in the very manifestation of his opponent. The closer they got to Berlin, the more this heart shrank away from him, and the more he longed for it. He couldn't understand why. Until now he had been merciless to all his enemies...

"What do you fear?" An authoritative voice rung out, the strength of the call ringing out over the neutral, impassive snow. It cut through Ivan's thoughts easily.

"What do I fear?" Ivan repeats without feeling, like it was the hundred time he had said it.

"I SAID! WHAT DO YOU FEAR?" That same voice again, which Ivan would be sure would be in his nightmares. All around him, men screamed out in glory.

"NOTHING, SIR!" A chorus of soldiers rang out all around the tall Russian. Ivan looks down, his chest tight, but he thought it must have been from shouting too much. He screams back the same thing, his violet eyes reflecting none of the energy or passion behind the words.

"AND WHAT DO WE LOVE?"

"MOTHER RUSSIA!"

"CHARGE!"

"URRAH! URRAH! URRAH! URRAH!" It chanting of their war cry was so loud...just too loud. Ivan charged in, but it felt like his mind was gone and his body was operating like a husk. They were so close, they had flanked Berlin. They would win. But this conversation... it dug up something... something... something... Something...

* * *

_"What do you fear most, Ivan?" A inquisitive voice spoke, inflecting the question mark at the end. Despite its relative softness, it held something in it. Almost as if the person asking it wasn't really expecting a response, and was just asking it in a condescending manner. Of course, the high pitched manner of the voice didn't really add to this effort._

_"What do I fear? Da, that is a hard question." Ivan looked down at his boots, and then back up at the person he was addressing. They looked like they had just sprung up from the ice that surrounded them, a short young boy, with pale white hair on pale white skin. Even the cloak he wore was pale white with a single black cross on it. "I don't think I fear anyone yet...?"_

_"Nein- I mean... Not something ...touchable... Something more... well. Something you fear of course." the few surviving soldiers that surrounded this young boy seemed at a loss, but remained still._

_"K-Knights Templar, you are confusing me ...but something I fear would have to be..." Ivan had to such in a quick breath before finishing his thought. "...love." Ivan rushed it out, reluctantly with a cold and distrusting stare, like this young boy had forced him to say it._

_"Oh." The albino lifted his face to look into his eyes, those piercing red eyes of passion looking into his violet ones. It was like he was finally at a loss as to what to say for once. But he quickly flipped the switch. "I don't like it either." he pauses to scuff at the ground with his blade, like he was unsure if he was speaking correctly. "Love is so... confusing." As the young boy spoke, his eyes looked around. People lay dead in pools of red, weapons stained in the hands of the few that lived. The boy looked at them like they were his family, his own brethren. Even at the troops that were not his, Ivan could see the mourning behind those red eyes, even if the albino tried to hide them._

_And this look made the distrustful glare on Ivan's face melt away. He felt himself... able to sympathize with his enemy. "I don't like it. It makes my heart do this painful jump, but I can't cure the pain with anything." Ivan added, getting the Knight's attention back to him. "I don't ever want to feel it again." This got a smile, albeit a bit pained one, from the albino. But nonetheless, the way the smile came onto his face...it was like he had found a sliver of light in the dark. And it still showed that bright, unwavering resolve of his._

_"I'm tired of love. So let's promise something else Ivan." the boy got closer, Ivan couldn't see where his hands went, but he felt a warmth in his heart. A relief from the bloodstained, freezing snow around them. "Let's never love again." The naive boy was suddenly out of his view. All Ivan could see was those same red eyes. No longer piercing... but more... Calming. Like the red flow of a content, beating, warm heart._

_"Never again... Lyubimiy." It felt like the words that came out from the Russian's mouth drifted and hung over them, creating this shield around them. A shield that blocked all the danger, all of the pain and replaced it with that same warmth he felt from those red eyes._

_And white snow became red, and red became purple, and Love was no more._


	2. Blood

A bullet rang out, followed with Ivan realizing that there was a slight stinging sensation in his arm. It was enough for a normal man to clasp a hand over, maybe curse about, rip off a bit of his clothing and patch it up if they could. But Ivan was no normal man. The crimson red blood just rolled down the sleeve of his trench coat as if it was a droplet of water, and he stared, unflinchingly, at his attacker. And the world slowed down and blurred out until it was just the two of them. Amongst 2.5 million soldiers, roaring planes, loud tanks, and the sounds of gunfire all around them, the world narrowed to this abandoned town hall in this forgettable German village on the outskirts of Berlin. Those same red eyes, once warm with the relief that their beholder shared something in common with the Russian, was now clouded, clouded with lies. Clouded with conviction, to kill and to defend. Those very same eyes that Ivan thought he could put the light out of himself.

But now, staring at the very man who was his enemy, the man he toiled to fight for years and years, Ivan stood, immobile. Not completely from fear, but mostly from some kind of awe. "You look terrible, Gilbert." It felt like saying his name was forbidden, like he was already commiting treason by not calling him something like "German scum" or "Nazi trash." And it wasn't like Ivan was wrong.

The albino was standing near a few burning tanks that were laying around outside, liable to blow up at any minute. Gilbert's eyes were sunken, still clouded with those lies, the flame that burned in them no longer of anything worth existing in this world. His uniform was tattered, his iron cross hung by a few pieces of metal around his neck. Burns marks and holes from grenades, knives, and guns littered his outfit. The red eyed albino didn't speak a word or seem bothered by what Ivan was saying at all. He stares at Ivan, like he was trying to make sense of some universal anomaly, figure out what the hell he was doing here. A few tense moments passed,and in those moments, the gun was raised to point at Ivan's head. Yet Ivan did not flinch, instead narrowing his eyes with contempt. "You have lost." he reminds, not bothering to pull out his own weapon or make any attempt to throw him off. Still no response from his enemy, undaunted by the extreme odds stacked against him. So Ivan tried another attempt, tucking away all feeling, destroying any last sentiments from the past. "I will burn all of Berlin to the ground."

And all hell broke loose.

The gun fired, smoke billowing out it, a Seitengewehr. It was a small handgun that packed a punch, and now that it was being wielded by an enemy that was holding nothing back, its danger was tripled. Ivan decided that wouldn't like a bullet to the head, and he drops quicker than he had ever done in his life. Something rose in his chest, a voice that seldom came out beyond his intimidating self. One that was of cold realization that this was not a duel easily won as the Motherland would have liked him to. He was up against another country, one that could still defy all odds and take him out if he didn't battle them seriously. So Ivan made up his mind. He would let Gilbert rest, to return him to a place where they no longer had to fight. The albino had suffered enough, being brainwashed, thrown out from his home, from his brother, to fight for an ideal he couldn't see the err in. Besides, talking things out was never something Ivan excelled in.

He pulled out his own gun, a Tokarev pistol, and returns fire. It was a simple black handgun, enough for Ivan to defend himself at least. And he was amazed to see Gilbert leap up like some sort of acrobat, the bullets hitting anywhere but their target. Then Gilbert continues attacking, using bullets to close the gap between them as he draws near Ivan for a close quarters battle. This let Ivan know that he must have had some sort of close range weapon, and he readies his Tokarev for it. Each of their bullets grazed the other, sending droplets of blood flying into the air and landing all around them, like some sort of red rain. But neither faltered, neither gave in or tried to back off. This was a battle to the death, for each of their own ideologies and lives, and for the insanity and deprivation that was warfare.

Ivan could not understand why Gilbert was trying to turn this into a knife fight. Bullets run out, blades do not..a possible motive. But with the rate Gilbert was firing off those bullets Ivan was sure it could not be an ammunition problem.

Ivan then remembered something, from years back. Gilbert would always tell him how it was much more human to be able to see your attacker right in front of you, see them eye to eye as you fight. Ivan remembered how the albino saw guns as cowardly kills, a necessary evil to win. Even in his brainwashed state, Gilbert retained some of his own values, and it gave Ivan some sort of morale boost.

_At least if I defeat him, I would be defeating someone that's not completely a puppet,_ thought the Russian. But a battle was no time to think on trivial things such as morals and honor. Ivan gets ready to ward off his pending attack, knowing that both of them were bleeding quite a bit from each other bullets, and that their wounds were wearing on both of their energy reserves.

As Gilbert rushed in with a flat blade, one that was nearly invisible, Ivan recognized it. A long but deadly blade if Ivan let it cut too deep into him, a Seitengewehr. As the Prussian charged at him with his blade drawn, Ivan grabs onto the arm holding the Seitengewehr, trying to disarm him as he sticks his pistol to his head. Ivan was seconds away from blasting Gilbert's brains out before the Prussian did a sly maneuver, using the arm that was holding him to swing himself into a full on takedown kick.

Luckily, Ivan caught onto what he was doing before it was too late, and let go in time to block the devastating roundhouse kick Gilbert delivered to his sides. It stung greatly, he was wearing heavy combat boots and Ivan could already feel bruises forming as his gun went flying out of his hands and landed several meters away from him, out of reach. Ivan grunted from frustration and pain, where had Gilbert learned such adept close range combat? But Ivan remembered how he had a literal card up his sleeve, his NR-40. The flat end this knife slide down from the inside of his sleeve into his hand. He then uses the NR-40 to stab into the leg Gilbert used to kick him. And Ivan finally heard him make a sound, a groan of pain, as he recoils back.

Ivan thought he was going to take this fight seriously... Gilbert was right there and he could have sliced his neck and be done with it. But he just stood there, watching Gilbert sway a bit as his leg started bleeding profusely as the trails of blood from the bullet wounds he got earlier joined with the one at his leg. Then the albino kept going, and Ivan defended as needed. Ironically, although this was an invasion in which Gilbert was defending his capital, Ivan was the one fighting defensively.

Gilbert tried to strike him in between his eyes and throw off his balance, but blade struck blade and his attack was repelled. Gilbert aimed for the solarus plexus, knowing that if he could hit that weak spot in all human chests, even Ivan would double over. But there was a swift blur aimed to his lower region. Ivan had hit him in his liver before he could attempt to hit him there. The Russian had beat him to attacking a weak spot.

The Prussian stumbles back before falling to the ground on his knees, his stabbed leg already started to bleed out quite profusely and his body ached with intense abdominal pain. Ivan stares at him, not finishing him off... He had won anyways. The battle had happened in a matter of seconds. "Perhaps, next time, you should not discard your gun." Ivan turns to rejoin his army, letting Gilbert bleed out slowly on the snow. It was a cruel fate, but Ivan was no generous man.

Or perhaps he could not finish him off himself right now... but as all things were with Ivan, he was a mystery.

* * *

But that was not the only mystery here.

The next sensation Ivan was aware of was a knife at his neck, cutting into it, drawing blood and cutting into an important artery. He felt a strong arm grab onto him to try to hold him in place.

Thinking quickly, Ivan used a swift punch to slam backwards into the attacker. A literal backstab... he managed to strike him in the ribs, with enough force to send the attacker backwards, along with the knife.

Ivan pants, this actually hurt. Blood was oozing out of his neck wound. His ears were ringing as if his body was crying out with him, and his vision was dizzy as a different color of blood ran down his neck. It was from deep within his body after all, a much darker red, almost the same tone of the red eyes of the presumed to be dead Prussian behind him. He covers up the wound, the blood running over his gloved hand as he turns to face who did it. Of course Gilbert was not dead... Ivan was surprised he could still move after all that.

The albino was crouched down to soften his impact from being punched backwards. His knees were touching the ground as he gets back up, pointing the knife out menacingly. He was not going down without a fight, after all. Ivan couldn't speak, his hand was pressed to his wound and he thought all hope was lost. Everything was turning white, and he saw Gilbert rush at him again with his knife out...

But out of nowhere, his neck wound just closed up. Ivan's hand was still covered in his own blood, but where there was supposed to be a huge, bleeding gash, there just a scar and no more blood coming out. And Gilbert fell to his knees once again, mid attack. The Soviet army, Ivan realized. They must have reached Berlin. This was his chance! And the next moment, he turned his brain off. The Russian does the same charging motion Gilbert had done earlier, his animalistic desire to win, to vanquish the man who had tortured him for years with endless war...

And stabs him in the chest, right where his heart was.

A cough, several coughs actually, wheezes and harsh, haphazard breathing was heard. Gilbert's eyes were wide open, blood trickling out of his mouth, and the albino was gasping for air like a fish out of water. From charging at him, Ivan had managed to knock him from his kneeling position to the ground and on top of him in an instant, and the Russian Nr-40 was deeply embedded into his chest.

And that was when Ivan saw the eyes that would never leave his mind for decades come. There was no more cloudiness in them, no more intent to kill, one at peace. The haphazard breathes kept coming, but it looked like the pain Gilbert was feeling was somehow nullified. And Ivan heard the first words from the Prussian in years.

"Ivan..." he did not quiver or shake, but he did suck in a few breathes and a small, uncontrollable whimper could be heard. It greatly pained Gilbert to even move, much less speak. Blood was rapidly filling his lungs and speech was a labor for him. Ivan was speechless himself, barely realizing that he was still on top of him. He rolled off of him, staring at the red blood that rolled all over his chest, and knew all he could do was listen. "Ivan... wow... you really, really got me this time." Of course in a terrible situation like this, where Gilbert had quite literally lost all hope, he could joke. "Where... are... we...?" He asks as those eyes, freed from the lies and brainwashing, looked at him with his own consent for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"...just outside of Berlin." Ivan's voice was too soft, too quiet, too tired.

"...you... won." Gilbert laughs, but immediately regrets it when the searing pain in his heart was tripled by doing so. Some blood was forced up and spilled over his chest from the laugh, and he stops making the sudden chest movements. "Was I at least close to winning?" All the Russian could do was nod. "I see..." Gilbert shivers a bit after saying this, the cold and the pain from the bullet wounds hitting him full force. The least Ivan could do for him was to offer him a place to rest. Being careful not to raise his chest, he moves his head into his lap, putting his coat around him; not seeming to flinch at all from the cold that hit him as a result from giving up his cloak. Gilbert didn't say anything, and Ivan wasn't expecting him to. They were sworn enemies, after all.

"What do you fear?" Ivan asks as if he had recited it a million times before. Gilbert raises a brow but doesn't chuckle.

"Not death." he answers, his non wounded arm coming up to try to prop himself up. But the Prussian could feel the steel digging into his chest, slowly stopping his heart muscle from beating as it dug deeper into him, and stops doing so.

"Really?" Ivan asks as he gently pushes his head down a bit, a signal to tell the stabbed albino to rest. The world around them morphed into a grassland before his eyes, a calm plain where death and war did not exist. "Then what?"

Gilbert closes his eyes, and Ivan felt his own heart stop. But he then heard a shaky response. "Losing..." he couldn't finish, but Ivan though he heard a 'you' at the end of that statement.

"Losing...m..me?" Ivan warbles out, the weakest and puniest he had heard himself sound in years. And the Prussian summoned all of his last energy in him to nod, to smile, and to move his hand into his.

And purple became red, and red became black, and Prussia was no more.


	3. Sunshine

There went the very capital Ivan had sought for years, the flanking was done, the capital was theirs. And Ivan couldn't be happy, couldn't even crack a small sound of joy at the fall of the very thing he had been trying to destroy for years. All he could do was stand there, immobile, remembering Gilbert's dying breath, his pale hand on his, the light leaving his eyes as he let out his last words... "Losing you."

He couldn't take much more of this. He felt a strange pang in his heart that soon turned unbearably painful. The silence was too unusual, too odd. It was like the entire world had taken in a breath and held it for as long as they could. No guns were fired, no tanks were moved, none of the infantry dared advance even an inch. The Fuhrer was dead. Berlin had fallen. After millions of shells of bullets had been fired into an already weakened and devastated capital, it was finally over. The world let out the sigh it had been holding in, and the Red Army celebrated.

As the world around him triumphantly rejoiced the end of the European Theater of this World War, Ivan excused himself, going back to the body of the albino. Lifting him up like a fragile vase, he gives him a proper resting place atop what used to be a hill with patch of sunflowers.

It all happened too quickly, the few moments he got with Gilbert after he remembered who he was... it passed by like a spark from a dying flame. The snow covered everything, the sunflowers were no more, just like how all the life and joy in Gilbert had been extinguished abruptly, unfairly.

He looks down at his lifeless body, still with that soft smile on his face. Ivan always hated that smile. It made him feel too much, this twisting, strange clenching of his chest . It was as if Gilbert had his hand in his chest, stealing his heart away as he squeezes it teasingly, giving him that smirk and that laugh he had fallen for.

And Gilbert really did steal his heart and all other emotions worth having for good. Ivan couldn't be happy, couldn't smile when his leader told him that they were now giving "free and fair" elections for those in East Germany, those that were now part of the Soviet Union. He couldn't smile at what was supposed to be an era of relative calm, a much better alternative to war. Why? Because none of those countries, none of this peace, included Gilbert... his enemy, his adversary, his love interest.

This capital, Berlin, offered nothing for Ivan. None of the loot in the world could make up for Gilbert. None of the land, none of the opportunities even came close. Upon that hill of what used to be sunflowers, there was snow and death and Gilbert laying there, dead. And Ivan clutched the body of the albino close to his chest, and he cried.

He must have been there for hours, tears coming down as if they had been held back since his birth. They were salty and streamed down like a rapid torrent, and Ivan made all manner of howls of screams of regret. He was not even himself anymore, Ivan had died and was replaced with raw sorrow. He never felt such horrid guilt and pain before. Prussia had been dissolved back in World War I, and he knew this was coming, but like all loss, it was too soon, too much.

They were supposed to end this war, bring death to the evil doers of Nazi Germany, bring back Gilbert how he was supposed to be like. But it was all his fault, Ivan realized. It was his fault that Gilbert was dead for good, that he would never be with his lover again. He stabbed him, after all... and it was too late now. Memories rippled through him like a merciless storm, and he found he could recall all of their encounters vividly, as it he had recorded it into his own mind.

He recalled the time they first met in that battle field, all the wars they fought, all the confusing off hand glances and looks, the time Gilbert told him about his favorite things and his ideals... all of it in a cesspool of flashbacks.

The soldiers found him hugging the corpse of their enemy as he bawled. They got Ivan to leave him there, and his leader forced him to never speak of Gilbert's death again, to prepare himself for what laid ahead. And Ivan had no choice. He had to stash away the heavy guilt in his heart, for there was a new problem. The United States of America... and the new dawn of an era.

* * *

The sun dappled in through the curtains of the large and spacious room, casting its light onto Ivan, who lay there bundled in thin blanket on a bed was always too uncomfortable. Another day of tenseness, of signing papers, of going around to maintain a peace that was held together with fear and tension.

The day passed too quickly, or perhaps it was months, or years. Despite the new problems that happened every day for Ivan, each day felt the same. Every morning he awake in a room much too large and lonely for one man. It felt as if time had stopped flowing, and he was caught in this limbo of stillness. Of sorrow and confusion and hurt and fear.

The Capitalists had declared a policy of containment, which was hell bent on stopping communism from spreading. The Soviets had tried a blockade of Berlin that was basically useless, and after obtaining Czechoslovakia, Ivan watched Prussia's land be renamed. The German Democratic Republic. He hated it. Not only was the place far from democracy, but it sounded as if Prussia was only a part of Germany this whole time.

At the same time the name change was a good idea. Every time he passed by the German Democratic Republic, the only face that could come to mind was Gilbert's. And the same rush of memories he got that day on the sunflower hill would always come rushing back.

Soon he found himself to have no time to be thinking about Gilbert, however. Problems with China and an increasing level of tension between East and West Berlin was bringing sheer turmoil to Ivan. After France and Great Britain gave Ivan troubles with Egyptian oil fields, and Hungary underwent a rebellion, the Russian was at his wits end. American spies were everywhere, disposing of them was a chore... but he never would have turned to the new choice by his leader.

* * *

August 12, 1961.

A wall was being build, an "iron curtain...across Europe." It was the very symbol of the failures of communism, the failure of his leaders and to Ivan's eyes, a symbol of his weakness. Ivan had no choice, when East Berliners went over to West Berlin and came back, their ideas gave Ivan even more to worry about. Freedom of speech was further suppressed and the wall was built. But it was not his idea.

Somewhere in his heart... for some odd reason... he wished to try and resolve this in a way other than a wall. Yes, he was fed up with all of the problems around him, with China and with the UK. But something about touching the land Gilbert was once representative of, and fencing it in without any warning felt so... wrong. Still, Ivan had no choice. The wall was being built as he sat at home, late into the night, whether he approved of it or not. He couldn't think on this much longer, he felt like his head would split...

He wasn't supposed to be conflicted, no... Ivan shook his head and quickly retired to his bed. He knew it was cowardly to just sleep on these feelings, just like how it was cowardly to build this wall. But he knew he had no choice. Everything was building up too quickly and he couldn't handle it anymore. Still fully clothed, he kicks off his shoes and closes his eyes as he let his body hit the mattress.

"Hey, Ivan!"

Ivan sat up, confused. There were no longer any sheets beneath him, and instead of his long trench coat, he had on a comfortable shirt and jeans. The Russian stood up and saw that he was on a hill, with beautiful sunflowers all around him. He looks around, unable to see who was calling out to him. It sounded... like a voice too familiar, that of which Ivan did not want to recall, for fear of all the memories he would bring with it. And so he remains quiet.

"Ivan, I'm talking to you. Come on." The voice rang out again. Ivan finally whirled around, summoning up the courage to look into his eyes. The same red ones that had been liberated so long ago before his death.

"Gil...bert." Ivan mutters, this was too good to be true. No. This was too bad to be true.

"Yeah, that's me." Gilbert chuckles as he steps towards Ivan but not quite touching him yet. "Oh yeah, I should mention that this is a dream." Gilbert adds suddenly. "Look, I don't have a lot of time, I know that sounds really bad, but I meant dream wise." Ivan stares at his chest. He was still in that tattered and broken uniform, but he was speaking normally, the scars on his body seeming to be of no importance to him. And the hole in his chest seemed like it had long faded into a permanent scar, and Ivan could see the remnants of his knife in there...

"...what do you want, Gilbert...?" Ivan manages to get out, saving himself from spiraling back into rapid flashbacks. Perhaps this was a self aware dream, a lucid dream, he thought. Gilbert was not here, he was too sad and delusional and that was why this was happening. Yes, it was because he was a crazy, insane man who was hell bent on ruining everything. The people were right, Ivan was a monster, he was-

"To talk with you. We have to talk about... everything." Gilbert continues to walk towards Ivan. "More importantly... you are not a monster." Ivan's head shot up, staring at him, wondering how he knew what was on his mind.

"I am... all those people died, I killed you, I am going to ruin the lives of the Germans... and I-" Ivan couldn't keep speaking, for both the right and wrong reasons. He felt arms wrap around him and bold and strong lips capture his. Breathless, Ivan stopped speaking, his pupils dilating, his body screaming yes... before roughly pushing the albino away with firm rejection.

Gilbert steps back, letting himself be pushed away yet again. Once on the battlefield, and once post mortem. "Sorry, too fast, I was saving that for when we would meet again, but you sounded so sad." he backs up to stand a good distance from him,and this let the Russian untense. "You know where we are, right?" Ivan couldn't speak. So Gilbert kept going. "The same...sunflower hill thing. You left me here to come here, alright? I have to see you in person." Still no response from Ivan. "I have to go, but please know this one thing, Ivan." Gilbert turns around, picking up a sunflower and comes back to hand it to him.

"You may think you are a monster, but you are my sunshine."

Ivan woke up surprisingly calm, not in a cold sweat or in a painful gasp of disbelief. He sat up again, the bizarre dream running through his mind on loop. "...you are my sunshine...? hah..." Ivan grabbed at his head, shaking it back and forth like he was trying to dispel a horrid curse. "I am going insane... Gilbert would never kiss me like that... and he would go to see his brother if he came back... no... I will not step foot in Berlin again..."

And Ivan kept his own word.

* * *

For the next 2 weeks, anytime business called for him to go near that sunflower hill in Berlin, he would simply refuse to do so. He got a few dreams during that time, but he would always immediately forget them after waking up. It was nothing like that vivid, unforgettable dream he had with Gilbert. Meetings usually went well, he used the excuse that he loved Mother Russia too much to step foot back into the place of all these volatile happenings. It passed for a while... until he had another dream.

"Ivan..." Gilbert was always starting off his encounters with his name, huh? It must have been force of habit.

Ivan trembles, and covers his ears. "Shut up! I KNOW! I'M CRAZY!" He shakes like mad. "I love a dead man, I am beyond help, just like they all say. So be it, I-"

"Ivan... I'm not dead. I'm just not alive." Ivan, despite himself, stares at Gilbert with utter bafflement. The albino keeps going. "Look, there's nothing you can lose by coming here...so please..." He starts to fade. "It's going to be a quick dream tonight, I guess it's a reminder. I'm waiting... and also..." he fidgets, this was the most insecure Gilbert had felt and looked in his life.

"Ich liebe dich."

* * *

What was he doing here? Gilbert's words, a figment of his own imagination, lead Ivan all the way to Berlin. It was sometime in the noon, and there seemed to be an odd occasion of no one being around. Ivan turns to start going back home, there was no point in doing this, he should not have come again, the memories, despite being from years ago, were too much-

"Over here. How many more times are you going to run away?" Ivan wished he could curl up and disappear. He refused to believe that was Gilbert. He turns around and starts running away.

But something made him stop. His feet came to a crawl, the wind blowing in his hair, the chirping of birds around them. It was like there was a heavy leaden chain beckoning him to stay. And he welcomed it, as a figure appears next to him, gets defined, and the very albino who had appeared to him last night was by Ivan's side. "Rude." Gilbert pines, that same chuckle from earlier ringing out. Ivan turns away, but sits down in the grass instead of running.

"How...how are you not dead?"

"Death was really interesting actually,... I remember a void of darkness, then this loud echoing voice that was like... 'Now is not your time, my child,' or something weird like that. But that's not important." The albino took in a breath, like he wasn't sure if he should even ask this question in the first place. "Ivan... why did you avoid me? For all those 2 weeks?" Ivan shivers when Gilbert asks him this, avoiding eye contact. A few moments passed, it was both tense and calm, too quiet and too loud with his own inner thoughts. Ivan finally answered honestly.

"I was a coward... a no good dastard...I... didn't want to hurt myself again.I stabbed you to death and the guilt was too much... So I told myself I would not go to Berlin." To this, Gilbert gave a nod of understanding.

"Mmm... makes sense... But you know that you only did it because we were at war. You're supposed to defeat your enemy after all. That's the point, Ivan." After a chuckle meant to lighten the mood did nothing, the albino looked up into the sky, the wind ruffling his hair a bit. Ivan, not able to resist curiosity, reached out and touched his leg. And he felt his gloved hand touch something. Noticing this movement, the albino moves to sit down as well. "I'm not fully ghost yet, I'm guessing that's thanks to that voice from earlier, and-"

"Why did you kiss me?" Ivan interrupts, turning to look at him. "Earlier... why...?"

"I told you, because you were sad."

"No... no that's..."

"Because I love y-."

"WHY?!" Ivan shouts with this terrifying fear and anger. "You were my enemy, a Nazi, you were... you are... you're supposed to... I... you're not allowed to-"

* * *

If Ivan wasn't so high strung he would have punched Gilbert. Because his kisses were always so effective in quelling him. Gilbert had moved his fingers to tilt his chin up to his and their lips were locked again, his arms coming around him once more. And this time, Ivan could not push him away.

"Love knows no sides." That phrase sounded a bit too intellectual for Gilbert, but he was beholding him with loving eyes. "Besides, I didn't support the Nazis either... I did it to protect mein bruder..."

"Still...I..."

"I'm going to say please again, but honestly I should just kiss you again, huh?" Ivan finally felt a rush of color to his cheeks as he turns away, unable to stammer or do anything. "I don't... have much time so I want to make the most out of this, can we please...please not argue anymore?"

"...you said your time limit was only 'dream wise...'" Ivan stopped thinking though, once he felt Gilbert's lips once more. This was... oddly unlike him. He didn't think Gilbert was such a kisser or so affectionate in the first place, but he couldn't care. Even if he woke up to find himself in his dreaming, he didn't care... because it had been too long, too many decades without him, and these could be... could be their last...

"I don't know if you heard me last time..." Gilbert says after their kiss passed and air came back into their heaving lungs, "but... Ich liebe dich."

"Ya tozhe tyebya lyublyu..."Ivan holds onto his shoulders, getting in the entire moment, remembering what his body felt like and how his lips taste and everything about him. "My lyubimiy..."

"Darling, right? And I hope the rest of that means what I hope it is." this followed by the albino's chuckle, the way his face light up a bit as his eyes closed made Ivan nearly lose it. He was so stunning, everything about Gilbert was perfect. Every moment of that strenuous World War, of this Cold War, it was all to hide these feelings for him. And he knew it, and he was going to stop it here. Before he knew it he was on top of him, looking down at him with overwhelming amounts of love, as the grass around them swayed with the wind. Gilbert's eyes were slightly widened, but his lips were upturned with anticipation and want as his hands came up to loop around his neck.

"Da , it means I love you too..." Ivan says with a grin, the first of its kind in forever, before they melted into another long and sloppy kiss. Tongue met tongue and Gilbert's soft moans were enough to get Ivan to keep going, fighting a bit with him for dominance in their mouth before he eventually obtained it. It was hot, steamy, and good, and they showed each other their passion and desire for each other through deep and drawn out kisses and touches.

Once they had to break it for air, Ivan noticed how flushed the albino's face was, it was adorable to see his handsome face like that, Ivan thought. "That... wow..." Gilbert pants as he pulls Ivan closer down on top of him. "I think I just went to heaven again, and it was just a kiss." Ivan sighs, shaking his head, this was the Gilbert he remembered for sure. But something was missing...

"Gilbert... why do you... love me?" Gilbert frowns upon hearing it.

"What? Did I not show you through that kiss? Ivan... ever since I met you, when we were little, I watched you grow up. Your confidence, sometimes even that scariness to you, it made my heart race so damn much. Even when you terrified me, I loved it. And oh god, the little things... your accent, your laugh, the way you look at me..." Gilbert was pouring out his heart, and Ivan didn't know why he was in such a hurry to rush this all out. It wasn't like him.

"Gilbert... I don't know what to say- But... you're..." Ivan stares at his body. Now that they were so close and now that he was on top of him, he noticed how it was losing its definition, how it looked like it was slowly being erased. No... last time it happened just like this. He was on top of him, having stabbed him, and he was dying, it was all going to happen again-

"And I don't know what I will do if I fade without feeling you one more time." he cuts into his thoughts, and pulls him down onto his lips and giving him another kiss. And Ivan accepted it, all of it, because this was Gilbert, and Gilbert was his world, his- "My sunshine." Gilbert whispers after the kiss. He reaches over to his left. Ivan made room for him, slowly moving up. He watched Gilbert pluck a sunflower and slowly inch off of the ground to give it to him. "I don't think you accepted it last time."

"Don't go." Ivan's voice was strained, it hit him why he was in such a hurry, why he was acting so unlike himself. But once again, Ivan was refusing it. Gilbert was right here and he was still going to be with him no matter what. Nothing could separate them again, history couldn't repeat itself...

"Ivan... I did... tell you..."

"Gilbert, no..." Ivan begs, it happened too quickly, the kisses were turning bittersweet, all of his words were fading too... "Will I see you again?"

Gilbert closes his eyes, the same thing he did when he died in Ivan's arms 22 years ago. The world stopped moving, the wind froze, the grass was still, everything was quiet. But it started moving again with his voice, both heavy and needing. "Take the damn flower..." he insists, and Ivan does so. "You know... I think we will. For sure... mein Schatz..."

"You promise...?" Ivan asks as he links fingers with him, their parting last time was full of pain and suffering, but this time he hoped to close it off with hope. The flower in his other hand swayed with the gentle breeze around them, as if it was nodding.

"I'll beat up Death if I have to, I'm going to see you again, no matter what..." Gilbert opens his eyes again and grins, mirroring the way Ivan did so after calling him darling earlier. "And you got to promise me something too."

"How... how can you know? That you will return? And.. what promise?"

"Love got me this far, and it will again." Gilbert's eyes met his, the passion like a set of rubies from heaven. "I want you to... get through this... as Ludwig said... 'Cold War...' Alfred may be an enemy now, but he doesn't have to die. He's a country thanks to me, you know." Gilbert was referring to the American Revolution, and he keeps going with this idea. "I know him. And I also know the whole world doesn't like you, but fuck them to hell. Get through it for me, so when I come back, we can be a little happier. Don't give up, and do what's right. " It seemed Gilbert had visited his brother before this, likely about the Berlin Wall, about the current state of the world. Ivan knew this, and he wished he could visit Ludwig as well to apologize.

"I'll... I'll wait for you. Because we will meet again." Ivan sounded sure of it, his confidence was back, his stride and his willingness to go on. The animosity earlier, the panic he felt when Gilbert started to fade, he let go of it. And when Gilbert told him the promise, many things went through his head. The wall... the containment policy... the hate and the fear... but through it all, Gilbert was able mend it and make it better. "Yes, I promise, I will... .get through this for you. I don't care if the world doesn't like me, you're all I want."

"Good, and you can bet I'll be back again." Gilbert reached to cling onto him, as if he was grounding himself as long as possible. His body was nearly translucent, those red eyes of his fading. "Aww, that's sappy, 'you're all I want.'" he jokes as he lets his body rest against his. Last time, this resting was painful, was unfair and was irrational. Now, the hope, the determination, the love, it came back.

"Gilbert... my sunflower, my lyubimuy...till we meet again..." Ivan returns the embrace, looping his arms around him.

"For now... Auf Wiedersehen... sweetheart."

And one last kiss sealed the promise...

And red became yellow, and yellow became white, and Hope came back.


End file.
